In this age of toil, Zaric had long understood that life in the mines was no easy path. But never once did it occur to him that he would die in his prime—buried by the same earth that fed his family.
That morning had begun like any other: the shift bell clanging, the scent of wet clay and coal smoke. Zaric and two other miners were assigned to open a new tunnel beneath the old Clayhaven ridge. They joked as they swung their picks, the air thick with dust and the echo of hammer on stone. Down here, sunlight was a rumor and safety a matter of faith.
At the third watch, Zaric's pick struck something that did not sound like rock.
Clink.
The vibration ran up his arm, sharp and strange. He brushed away the silt with a ragged glove—and froze. Nestled in the wall was a yellow Amethyst, faintly glowing beneath a film of dust. It pulsed like a heart.
"Oi, what's that light?" one of the others called, but before Zaric could answer, the earth gave a low growl. The supports creaked. Then the tunnel collapsed.
The roar drowned their shouts. In a single breath, the world turned to darkness and weight.
When Zaric awoke, his mouth tasted of dirt. The air was thin, dry as stone powder. He coughed, clawing at the packed mud around him. The lanterns were gone. So were the other miners.
He called out—no answer. Only the soft settling of earth, like the mountain's breathing.
The shaft had caved in completely. Above and behind him was nothing but a ceiling of crushed timber. The tunnel he'd dug was now his coffin.
A cold tremor of panic climbed his spine. He pressed a hand to the wall—the same wall where the Amethyst had been. Under the faint shimmer of its light, he could still see it, half-buried yet unbroken, its surface smooth as water.
With shaking fingers, he pried it free.
The moment he touched the stone, a chill seeped into his palm, flowing up his veins and into his chest. The Amethyst hummed, a low, steady rhythm that matched his heartbeat. Its glow brightened until the whole tunnel shimmered gold.
Zaric blinked. He could see without flame.
"Maybe this is my way out," he whispered.
He tried digging with his bare hands, but the packed mud was merciless. His nails split, blood mingling with clay. Desperation lent him strength, and he used the Amethyst like a chisel. To his astonishment, it cut through rock like wet soil.
He stared at it, wide-eyed. "By the depths… what are you?"
The Amethyst light pulsed again, as if answering.
So Zaric dug.
Time lost meaning. Hunger faded, thirst dulled, but his arms kept moving, guided by the faint warmth spreading from the stone. Each swing carved through earth like butter, and whenever his strength faltered, the Amethyst cooled his blood, renewing him.
He didn't know if hours or days passed. The air grew heavier, yet somehow he lived. When his mind began to blur, a faint draft brushed his face—fresh air.
A heartbeat later, he saw it: a shimmer, a thread of light through the cracks ahead.
Light.
He clawed toward it like a man reborn, ripping through the final wall of mud until daylight spilled onto his skin. He tumbled forward, gasping, the world blindingly bright.
He'd made it out.
Zaric fell to his knees, panting. Above him stretched a sky the color of polished stone, clouds rolling like dust storms. Around him lay mounds of dried earth, the remains of old collapses. He looked back—the tunnel he'd crawled from had already half-sunk behind him, forming a mound of wet soil.
A mud grave, if not for the fact that he was still breathing.
He pressed a trembling hand against his chest, feeling the Amethyst faint thrum through his shirt. Its light had dimmed, but not vanished.
The miners he'd worked beside were nowhere to be found. The tools, the carts, even the sound of the shift bell—all gone. Only endless fields of clay and dust stretched beyond the ridge, unfamiliar and silent.
Zaric turned the Amethyst in his palm. "What are you… and where have you taken me?"
The gem's glow pulsed once—softly, like the heartbeat of the earth.
And somewhere in the distance, beneath that alien sky, the ground answered.